


All Along The Watchtower

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Multi, heroes exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-07
Updated: 2009-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the 70s, and they're young and talented and at the top of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Along The Watchtower

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the Winter 2008 Heroes Exchange for Boombangbing.

**Changes**

For a long time, Arthur and Daniel can't remember to call each other by their Christian names. They'd spent too long in Vietnam, been in too many stressful situations together for anything besides their assigned nicknames to feel natural. When they're talking about Adam's overarching vision, heads close together over a sheet of drafting paper, when they're up to their ears in a bold plan to save the world, they forget themselves more. The one time Charles jokingly calls Arthur "Dallas", Petrelli's eyes go dark and he doesn't even need to say "don't call me that" because it bleeds from every inch of his body.

No one ever, _ever_ tries to call Daniel "Austin". No one but Arthur.

Arthur has always had a shitty sense of appropriate timing. It's only after he's collapsed against Daniel's back, sweating and breathless, that he murmurs somewhere behind his neck: "Hey Austin, I asked Angela to marry me."

Daniel's back goes stiff, and he rolls away to look into Arthur's face. "Did you. And she said?"

"Yes, of course. She said yes." Arthur is beaming, expecting to be congratulated; he's confused when Daniel gets out of bed and starts dressing rapidly. "What? I thought you'd be happy for me, Au--"

"My name," he's interrupted coldly, "is Daniel. Not Austin. And I hope you're happy, Arthur, because I cannot bring myself to be happy for you."

When Daniel storms out, he's not sure who he's more furious at: Arthur for asking her, Angela for accepting, or himself for wanting them both and ending up with neither.

**Out of Touch**

"Don't be so moody," Bob says, rolling his eyes. "See you and raise five."

"I'm out," Charles says, tossing his cards down and frowning at Maury, who's sitting away from the poker game and glowering. "Come on, man, you know it ain't fair for you to play."

"I told you, I'm not going to read your damn minds! We're not even playing for money," the telepath huffs, making Adam smile as he raises the stakes.

"Of course you will. That's just who you are, Maury. Maybe if it comes to a game of pure chance..." Adam lays down his cards, displaying three of a kind, and the other men grumble and curse as he collects the chips.

"Whatever, I can find something else to do. See you all tomorrow." Halfway to the front door of the building, Maury pauses when someone thinks his name like a shout in his mind. A moment later, Bob rounds the corner, looking flustered and a little guilty.

"I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. Looks like the drinks are on me tonight, huh?" Bob's earnest, bright blue eyes and wry little smile wipe away Maury's frustration, and he grins back at Bob like he'd never been upset at all.

"Let's grab a bottle and forget the bar," Maury suggests. "I just got a new dartboard, we can break it in." Bob agrees readily, and when Maury walks ahead he can't help feeling smug. Bob's so _easy_, just a little nudge and he'll go along with any little thing Maury puts in his mind: the promise of a trip to the bar, loneliness where Bob's easy solitude usually lies, a hazy half-memory of closer moments interspersed within their friendship. It's so simple that when Maury unlocks the door to his apartment, Bob's the one who kisses him, even before the door shuts behind them.

"Maury, put it aside," Bob insists, backing the shorter man past the couch and prying the bottle of Jim Beam out of his hand to drop it on the cushions. "I'm not in the mood to wait," he adds, and slides his hands into Maury's shaggy dark hair. For a second Maury wonders if this was actually a good idea if Bob is going to be so pushy, but he stops considering Suggesting that Bob ease off when Bob presses Maury against the wall, pushing a knee between his legs and rubbing against the seam of his corduroys until Maury gasps and pulls him back by a handful of dirty blond hair.

"So you don't want to try out the dartboard?"

Bob looks at him blankly, then laughs. "No, no, I really don't. I thought that was just an excuse to bring me back here, honestly."

Well, it _was_, but it surprises Maury to hear that so openly from Bob-- as if he would have agreed to come home with Maury anyway, without the little mental prod. Bob arches one brow. "Don't tell me you thought--"

"Well, I wasn't reading your mind," Maury lies. Bob licks his lips and smirks.

"Go ahead and read it."

Bob Bishop has a filthy, astoundingly creative mind. Maury is impressed, but not as impressed as he's about to be.

**Dreamweaver**

Charles Deveaux confuses Angela in so many ways.

She's dreamt of him before-- she dreamed of all of them before they came together, of all twelve who wanted to help make Adam's dream a reality-- but Charles is the only one who's ever talked directly to her while she was dreaming the future. He's the one who looked back at her and smiled, called her by name, greeted her like a friend.

When it comes to Charles, Angela isn't sure whether her dreams are predicative or not. They have the same shadowy-real feeling, but she's engaged to Arthur now, and the dreams haven't stopped: dark hands on her porcelain skin, the tickle of a mustache across her stomach, a sweet devious grin just before he does wonderfully evil things to her, things she wouldn't even let Arthur do, but allows Charles with nothing more than a moan of acceptance. She can't explain to Arthur why she wakes up so aroused, but he doesn't question his luck when he's woken most mornings by her lithe body atop him, her eyes distant but her body _right there_.

He doesn't ask, so she doesn't have to tell; he's not the most considerate lover, so she never has to bite back the wrong name when she comes. When she touches herself in the shower, washing his sweat from her skin, it's not Arthur's fingers she imagines between her legs.

Angela doesn't know if her dreams of Charles are products of her talent or her desire, but she almost hopes it's the first one.

**Devil's Answer**

"Nakamura," Adam lilts, and Kaito looks up sharply. He hates it when Adam sneaks up on him, and he hates how easily and how often Adam chooses to do just that. "A word, please?"

"I'm busy," Kaito says brusquely, turning his attention back to the file on his desk, a report of a girl who may or may not be pyrokinetic. Adam takes that as the invitation it is most certainly not meant to be, and comes close enough to lean his hip on the corner of the desk closest to Kaito, planting a pale hand right in the middle of the page Kaito is reading. "I said," Kaito starts, and scowls fiercely when Adam covers his mouth with his other hand.

"You Nakamura men," Adam sighs, his lips quirking. "Indomitable. Now listen, Kaito, just one minute." Reluctantly, Kaito relaxes, wondering what Adam meant by that. "I know what your motives are for remaining with this Company-- ah ah ah, no, don't try to lie."

"My motive is the same as all of ours." Kaito's eyes narrow when Adam's blue ones roll, exaggerating his disdain. "You doubt my dedication to the cause?"

"Not in the least. I simply know that you're also trying to make money on what our research discovers, and that's admirable, really." Adam's got a shark's smile, those ageless blue eyes too pale and too unfeeling. "I'd like to make an arrangement with you. In exchange for my silence to the others, you understand."

"You want a share? Fine." Kaito knows that isn't what Adam means, but the immortal man is making him more uneasy with every moment that passes, and anything that gets Adam out of his office is something with which he will agree.

"I don't want a share of your company or your money." Adam's fingers play over Kaito's jaw and slip down to curl around the knot of his tie. "I want your firstborn son," he says, and laughs at Kaito's dumbfounded expression. "No, no, of course not. All I want from you is sex, Kaito. Simple enough. I get to have you once a week, you get to make a name for yourself on the stock market without any of our colleagues expecting a cut of their own."

"You must be joking, Adam Monroe." As quick as Kaito is, as honed his reflexes are, he's not fast enough to avoid Adam's mouth-- a jerk of his tie bringing his head up, then the bruising pressure of teeth behind lips, teeth _on_ his lip, Adam biting down hard enough to leave a cut on the inside of Kaito's mouth.

"Haven't you learned yet? I never joke about what I want." Adam licks Kaito's blood from his teeth, smug at how right he is: he'll have Kaito Nakamura now; he's already had Hiro Nakamura once, and he will again some day.

**Freebird**

The bruises that darken Bob's sides are ugly, sprawling things. "You're terribly clumsy for such a perceptive man," Daniel chides, ignoring Bob's gasp when he presses fingers into the worst of the welts. "Three broken ribs. Perhaps you shouldn't go into the field, Bishop. You do have an excellent mind for tactics, but your... performance... leaves something to be desired."

"Would you stop insulting me and fix this, already?" Usually so calm, Bob gets testy when he's in pain, more so when he's being dressed down. "It's not like _you're_ going out to find these people. Someone has to."

"And we have several people who are fully capable of doing just that." Daniel's hands radiate warmth, or so it feels to Bob, heat suffusing the places where he hurts and making the pain fade. "Some of us are simply better suited to administrate than to execute." Two pairs of brilliantly blue eyes watch the purple flesh fade back to cream, and Daniel strokes his hand from Bob's hip to his armpit, a gentle reconnaissance to ensure the healing is complete.

"But I like--" Bob frowns, looking away and pulling his shirt down roughly. "Never mind. I'll consider it." He sits up, but Daniel stops him before he can hop off the examination table.

"Robert, I didn't mean it as an insult. This is the fifth time I've had to patch you up after a mission..." Daniel's lips purse wryly. "I worry about you sometimes. That's all. I'd worry less if I knew you weren't putting yourself into needless danger."

"Why, Daniel, I didn't know you cared," Bob says sarcastically. "I'm sorry for not making your life easier." Arching one eyebrow, Daniel locks his hands around Bob's wrists, leaning fractionally closer.

"Don't be such a fool," he says, holding the younger man's hands to the padded surface of the table. "It's a waste of a brilliant mind." That warmth starts to spread up Bob's arms, a similar heat staining his cheeks as Daniel encroaches further into his personal space.

"If you don't mean to insult me, you're doing a really bad job of it," Bob mutters. Daniel pauses and sighs, and Bob finishes closing the space between them, pressing their foreheads together, blond hair mingling with dirtier blond. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually respect me."

"You're an ass," Daniel says fondly, and when their lips meet Bob is certain that Daniel could burn him up from the inside out if he was given the chance.

He's very, very tempted to give Daniel the chance.

**The Joker**

"I've already told you, Kaito, the only way you can pull me away from Arthur is with a larger diamond on an engagement ring," Angela teases, amused by the ease with which she can make the Japanese man blush. For all his self-possession and confidence, Kaito goes to pieces when she flirts with him, no matter how idly. "Or maybe you could win my hand in a duel, if you could get him to agree to swords."

"With swords, he would stand no chance." For one brief moment, Kaito relishes the idea of stabbing Arthur Petrelli; he's never really trusted the man. He could easily beat Arthur in hand-to-hand combat, but the man would undoubtedly steal Kaito's power-- though that would be the last mistake he ever made.

"If I ever need rescuing from a dragon, I'll trust that to you." Angela flashes a smile and lays a hand on Kaito's arm. "I know you wouldn't delegate it away. You're an honest, good man." The implication that perhaps Arthur wasn't a good man is probably an inference Kaito is making without Angela actually having implied it. Still, her words bring something to the surface of his mind.

"Have I ever told you of Kensei and the dragon, Angela?"

Back in Japan, his parents are urging him to meet a daughter of some magnate, a slip of a thing named Ishi. But right now, Kaito is focused on a less honorable path: telling stories of his hero to a woman who's engaged, and trying to cop a feel as she listens.

**Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood**

Daniel is graceful. She knows that she shouldn't notice, not when he's her fiance's best friend, not when she's to be married in less than a month, but ignoring the elegance and economy of his movement is like ignoring the sunrise: even if you don't look directly, you have to be blind not to notice the change all around.

Angela is beautiful. Daniel has resigned himself long ago to that fact, to the necessity of watching her on the sly, to the impossibility of anything ever coming from his fierce, misplaced love, but he can't help but follow her: she's true north and he's the compass needle, never able to escape her pull, even if that leads him in a direction he doesn't want to go.

"For Christ's sake, talk to her," Bob mutters as he walks past Daniel, "before it's too late."

"Angela, you need to say something to him," Victoria advises her after complimenting her dress. "You can't just ignore this."

"I'm afraid I'll be needing Arthur tonight. We've a rather urgent mission," Adam informs them both: Angela as the fiancee, Daniel as the one who records missions and does debriefings. They look at each other when Adam walks away, and each hesitates before they start speaking at the same time.

"I think we--"

"Angela, I have--" They break off, Angela biting her lip and Daniel ducking his head with embarrassment. "Go ahead," he says.

"I think we need to talk, Daniel." All around the room, eyes are being drawn to the pair: nearly everyone has heard some angle on the love triangle, and everyone has an opinion. The minute Daniel follows Angela from the room, the rumors fly, a flock of birds set loose with the slam of a door. Maury is the only one with any idea of what each of the three think, and he's the one taking bets on how long it'll take one of the newlyweds to break their marriage vows, how long Daniel will hold off punching Arthur or vice versa, even on the chance of an elopement rather than a wedding.

"I have to tell you," Daniel says when Angela stops and turns, perfectly eye-to-eye with him thanks to her high heels; he knows she's the perfect height without them, just the right size to twirl in a tango, ideal to hold in his arms and let her rest her head on his shoulder. "I can't be Arthur's best man. I don't think I can bear to stand up there and watch you marry anyone else when I love you so dearly, Angela."

"Oh, don't--" Angela wilts, reaching out to clutch his arms reluctantly. "Why did you have to _say_ it?"

"Because I can't let it happen without you knowing. I've adored you since the day we met." Her cheek is so smooth under his fingers, her lips wet and bright with lipstick, her lashes dark against her pale skin; it's all Daniel can do to keep speaking and not kiss her as he so desperately wants. "You're the only woman I have ever felt for this way."

"That's because you think I'm someone I'm not," Angela says, keeping her eyes closed as his hand stills on the side of her neck. "You have me built up in your mind. I'm not the-- the good, innocent person you think I am."

"I know you're no more naive than I am. Think about it, Angela: don't you think you could be happy with me?" Daniel's breath whispers past her ear, stirring the single curl that hangs free of her neat braid, and she shivers into his arms. "Isn't there a single dream in that brilliant far-seeing mind of yours that hints toward your acceptance of my love?"

"God, Daniel, you have _no idea_ what my dreams tell me about you. Us." When she meets his eyes, they're as blue and open and desperate as the most isolated stretch of ocean. "What would you accept? A night together? A long affair? Maybe what you really want is to be shared, is that it?" She smiles wryly at his obvious shock. "What if that's what I've seen? I know about you and Arthur, or what you had, anyhow."

"Angela, please don't be cruel," he breathes, unsure of where she's leading, even less sure of whether he wants to follow, but stung by the vicious hope that she could be telling him what he'd never thought to be lucky enough to hear.

"What's crueler, Daniel? Getting everything you want and then having it taken away, or stealing away everyone's chance at happiness?"

"Tell me what you mean... do you want me to leave, or do you need me to stay?"

For a long moment, Angela studies his face, one fingertip tracing the line of Daniel's brow, the bridge of his nose, down his jaw to end at his chin. "You could be the father of my children," she says slowly, "but unless you and I are the only ones who know that, everything we're working toward here will be undone."

He's confused, delighted, frustrated; the promises and threats tied up in her words overwhelm him until there's only one thing he can do to regain some semblance of control. Daniel pulls Angela close, one arm around her delicate waist, and kisses her tenderly, firmly, needfully.

"Whatever it takes. Whatever I have to do for you, for--" He can't say _our children_, isn't sure how much credence to give her mystic visions, but the thought is putting a knot in his throat already. "-- for us to have anything together. I'll do anything for you, Angela."

He can feel her lips move against his, but Daniel has no idea that the words Angela can't say are _yes, I know you will._

**Love the One You're With**

Angela had been too excited about her honeymoon to really consider the implication of spending her first night as a married woman in France; that implication was long hours on a plane, the slow wearing off of the wine from the reception, Arthur holding her hand while he drowsed, the Atlantic dark and unfathomable below them. It was all much less exciting than she'd thought it would be.

Finally, she nudged Arthur awake, rousing him with kisses to his cheek and fond little whispers. "Wake up, darling. Open your eyes."

"Hmm?" Arthur blinked a couple of times, then sat up straight, running a hand through his hair. "Angela. Are we already in Paris?"

"Not even close," she said, reaching up to put into place the hair that Arthur had mussed. "I'm impatient, that's all. I thought you'd do a better job of amusing me than the in-flight music." In the second it took Arthur to look like he was going to protest, Angela slid her hand up his thigh, smiling wickedly. "I've been waiting and waiting... I don't know if I can wait until France."

"You can't-- _oh_." Realization dawned quickly, and Arthur glanced around. Only a few of the other first-class passengers were awake, and Angela's smirk widened when Arthur cleared his throat. "I'll see you in a couple of minutes?"

"Don't leave me waiting longer," Angela purred, stretching as she rose from her seat and sauntered up the aisle toward the restrooms. Not for the first time since saying _I do_, Arthur looked up and said a fervent little thank you to God for sending him such a brilliant, beautiful, capable, and horny woman to be his wife... then he bit down a grin as he followed Angela's footsteps.

 

**end.**


End file.
